


Magnetic Rag

by RoeBoat



Category: Peanuts
Genre: Angst, Business, Chronic Illness, Classical Music, Coming Out, Dark Comedy, Drama, Friendship, Graduate School, Journalism, Light Swearing, Multi, Parties, Subways, This is supposed to be funny I swear, briefcases, business suits, hallmark cards, inaccurate depictions of baseball, internships, irreverant mocking of teen movies, music in general, red solo cups, seriously the author knows nothing about sports, wildly inaccurate medical details for drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoeBoat/pseuds/RoeBoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Brown is finally where he can be successful, living for his work in the city and valuing his anonymity. Upon returning home for his sister's wedding, he finds himself in the middle of a sort of dark, unexpectedly serious tragicomedy that really isn’t completely his fault—even if everyone is unintentionally (and maybe strategically?) convincing him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scott Joplin's Last Rag

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note, November, 2014:
> 
> The story you're reading is not ten years old, even if FF.net says so. It is a recent composition, published in place of a fic I started and forgot about years ago. Fortunately, it bares little resemblance to its early form. If you want to learn more about its history, please read the author's notes at the end of this chapter.
> 
> Each chapter has a music selection or two, which I very much recommend you listen to as you read. Music is a very important part of this story. Sometimes there's an obvious title drop of the song within the story (Schroeder has fun with that sort of thing), and other times it's just what I was listening to when I wrote.
> 
> A disclaimer: I do not have any claim or rights to Charles Schulz's Peanuts characters, nor anyone's interpretation of them since. There's a lot of dark humor in here, some blatantly inaccurate medical references, and irreverent mocking of teenage stereotypes. I don't mean to offend anyone, and I apologize if I do.

1\. Scott Joplin's Last Rag

Music Selections: "Prelude in A Major, Op. 28, No. 7." (Chopin), "Magnetic Rag" (Scott Joplin)

* * *

Charlie Brown straightened his tie with a fidgety wrist, then shifted his suitcase from one hand to the other. It was beaten to shit, held together with duct tape and luck—which could describe a great many things in his life, he decided. He hoped that his ride would arrive soon. He didn't fancy staying at the train station forever, even if his sister's teasing was all he had to look forward to that afternoon.

He squinted at the afternoon sun and stepped off the sidewalk towards a black car he vaguely remembered as Schroeder's sixteenth birthday present. Knocking on the window, he was sure that he was correct, as the driver was deeply engrossed in the rhythm he was tapping out on the steering wheel.

 _Thank God for consistency_ , Charlie thought.

"That's a fine instrument you're playing," he commented once the pianist climbed out of the car to greet him. "What's the piece?"

"Haven't seen you in a while," Schroeder said with a crooked grin, embracing his friend. He hadn't changed much since Charlie had last seen him; he still sported a vaguely rumbled academic look with worn corduroy pants and a striped button down shirt, though his blond hair was a bit neater and better groomed than Charlie remembered. "It's Chopin's Prelude in A Major, Op. 28, No. 7."

Charlie Brown smirked. Schroeder would fit right in with the loud, opinionated post-grads that frequented the bars in the city. "Something fancy with lots of numbers and letters. I'm not surprised." He threw his battered suitcase in the trunk, and they both winced as it landed with a thud. He made a mental note to replace it before or after he got back to the city.

They made quite a pair: Schroeder in his a little-too-purposefully-casual clothing, and Charlie fresh from the office in a suit so stiff it could stand on its own. He noticed Schroeder politely staring at his attire, and he suddenly wished that he'd gone home to change after work. He'd taken a half-day, and went directly to the train station at lunch.

As he scrambled to fit his limbs in the passenger seat, he resolved that the hardest part of the whole trip—making himself actually go—was over. His mind tended to work against him in these situations, generating all sorts of what-ifs and maybes.

Suppose his parents were still angry he didn't come home after graduation? Suppose no one had missed him? Suppose they did?

It was too bad there wasn't a "Sorry I've been over thinking my life" Hallmark card; he could have stocked up before he came home and handed them out as an explanation instead of actually talking to people.

But Charlie couldn't control other people any more than he could control the weather (not just yet, but he was still working on it), so he settled into the car and decided to take the inevitable trials as they came.

* * *

He'd had always known that there wasn't anything special about him, and he'd come to terms with that. It had bothered him as a child, when he'd see his peers excel while he struggled to get by.

But inexplicably, adulthood suited him. Charlie Brown's everyman qualities meant that he finally blended in, and his constant worries kept him a step ahead. He did what he was told without fuss. He didn't argue, he didn't talk back, and he didn't give his opinion.

He had adapted well to college's goal-oriented structure, finding it more straightforward than grade school. All the lies building up his anxiety were torn away bit by bit as he realized that his professors cared even less than his classmates. By the time Charlie graduated, his list of references was double-sided, mostly due to a last semester internship in the marketing office of a sports magazine. He'd applied for over fifty internships, but only heard back from a few, and somehow only interviewed at his top choice. They liked him so much that they offered him a job after school, and he'd been there ever since.

The truth was, he lucked out. For the very first time in his life, everything just fell into place. He found an affordable apartment in the city right by the subway stop. It happened to be over a sports bar, which was great because he didn't have a working television (his only functioned with the weight of several books on top, and that was more work than it was worth. He ended up using it as a doorstop).

His parents had never expected their quiet, reserved son to move to the busy city, mostly because they just didn't see the appeal. They eventually got over the shock, or at least stopped calling every other day to make sure he was still alive. And besides a single speedy Christmas visit and an occasional phone call, Charlie hadn't had any communication with home in a few years. He hadn't meant to be cold, exactly, but the independence and anonymity city life had given him was too important to give up even for a weekend.

He wasn't concerned or surprised the year before when Sally told him that she'd begun to see their old friend Linus Van Pelt. Sally was fresh out of nursing school, and Linus was in graduate school and though they'd known each other since children, their lives had never quite fit together until then.

But Charlie _was_ shocked when Sally called him only a few months later to tell him that she was marrying Linus in August—and that Linus wanted him to be best man.

For the next few days, his mind did somersaults at the thought of his baby sister getting married. Time had passed quicker than he had thought. Sleep was inaccessible, interrupted by long-forgotten images of home, of people and places he'd chosen to stay away from.

Finally, he had to answer a series of he'd avoided for so long: Why was it so hard to go home? Why did he suddenly feel responsible for these events? Could he keep the qualities of the life he had now if he returned?

Days later, he had no answers, but maybe a temporary solution.

So he called Schroeder.

* * *

The musician nearly fell off the piano bench in his office at school when he heard Charlie's voice ask him to pick him up at the train station the following weekend.

It would be a nice surprise for Sally, Charlie concluded, and he'd be able to find out some answers—answers he couldn't supply from within— at the engagement party. And it was just a few days. Maybe he could get to the bottom of this, so he could return to life and have one less thing to worry about. In his own passive aggressive style, maybe he wouldn't have to ask any questions at all. Maybe things would be answered for him.

They could have "Maybe" situation Hallmark cards, too, he decided. Just to be prepared. Ones that said "I got you this card because I thought maybe you'd need it, but maybe you don't. It's here anyway, so here you go," or "Good luck with that situation that I hypothetically projected onto you and maybe might not happen."

"It's all rather…fast, don't you think?" he asked Schroeder when they were out on the road. They were listening to one of Schroeder's selections, something whimsical and jolly. A rag, if Charlie's musical knowledge led him to recall correctly. He didn't have a tenth of Schroeder's musical genius, but he liked to think his friendship with the musician had taught him something.

The pianist snorted and adjusted his rearview mirror. "They've known each other their whole lives," he said incredulously, as if Charlie had stepped out of Victorian England instead of the train station. "Did you expect them to be ninety before they made it official?"

"No, I mean the dating-engagement-marriage process," Charlie clarified, forcing a laugh to keep things light.

He was failing, because Schroeder didn't say anything. The music cut through, jauntily speckling the silence with bouncy chords and rhythms.

"I mean, yeah, they've known each other forever," Charlie admitted. His boss once told him that he was a world-class bullshitter, and he wasn't wrong—Charlie liked to fill awkward silences with words, even if it was just mindless filler. "But they only started dating a few months ago, and now they're getting married at the end of the summer? I trust them, but it just doesn't seem in character for either of them…."

Schroeder was still quiet, and he seemed fixated on the road.

"…unless you know something I don't," Charlie finished, searching his friend's face for an answer. If he had decided to be a real asshole or if he'd seen Schroeder even once in the last few years, he would have batted his eyelashes. Instead, he threw the comment at the musician, hoping he'd take the bait and latch on to the humor. It would make things easier.

Schroeder exhaled through his nose. "This explanation is going to involve a detour." He leaned over and abruptly turned off the music. "And it may ruin your surprise."

"That's okay," Charlie answered, not wasting time to weigh the options. Schroeder clearly wasn't playing along with Charlie's game, and it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.

"You haven't talked to anyone in a long time, have you?" Schroeder asked quietly, biting his lip.

Charlie knew that he probably hadn't meant it to sound as cutting or critical as it did, but it stung a little. "No, I haven't." He hoped that hadn't come out as defensive as it felt.

They were going in a different direction now—the county seat the next town over, not their hometown. Charlie's curiosity and concern took over. Without the music, there was nothing to fill the awkward silence, and he was already wishing that Schroeder hadn't turned it off.

"I guess it all started around Christmas last year," Schroeder started. "And keep in mind that you're only getting what I know of things. Everyone's been kind of hush-hush about everything because that's how she wants it."

Charlie didn't miss the hint of underlying irritation tacked on to the end of his words, an implied eye roll. That didn't sound like Sally at all, he thought. His sister had been one of the few people he'd kept in contact with—surely she hadn't changed that much without him noticing. She was still his talkative, chatterbox little sister. "Go on."

"I was driving home from church—I had been at rehearsal for the Christmas service—when I saw an ambulance outside of the Van Pelts' house."

Charlie frowned. He would have heard if Sally had been sick or injured, wouldn't he? He would have been told. He would know. It wouldn't have been kept from him. All plans of laughing and bullshitting his way though the weekend were decimated with the realization that he couldn't mock a serious situation, especially if it was about his family.

"What was it?"

Schroeder hesitated, but continued. He was growing more serious by the moment, and Charlie concluded that the worry made him look younger. "Linus, Rerun, and Lucy had saved up a bit of money to give their parents a proper twenty-fifth wedding anniversary present. A Caribbean cruise. So they were on their own until New Years."

At the mention of Linus and Lucy's younger brother, Charlie raised an eyebrow. "How old is Rerun now?" He cut in, embarrassed. His last memories of the youngest Van Pelt were of a skeptical boy trying to grow up faster by proving the existence of logic in all things… and of him constantly trying to acquire a dog.

"He just graduated from high school. So he was on break from school, and Linus and Lucy were staying with him. Well, I turned into their driveway, and... Lucy was being taken to the hospital. She'd passed out in the kitchen while she was making breakfast."

" _Lucy_?" That wasn't what he'd expected to hear at all. Charlie Brown was relieved that his sister was okay, but didn't find any comfort.

"When I got there, no one knew why she'd fainted. Linus got in the ambulance, and I drove Rerun to the hospital. Rerun said she woke up that morning, took the trash out, started breakfast, and suddenly they heard a crash from the other room. Linus got to her first," Schroeder said sadly.

"Oh, my god. What's wrong?" There was no use pretending that this was an isolated thing, if it was apparently the reason why current events were unfolding the way they were. "Schroeder, what happened?" Charlie insisted.

"It's a bunch of things, but her heart and lungs aren't…" Schroeder paused. "Lucy doesn't…" His breath caught. "They put her on a bunch of medications to regulate things, and it worked for a little bit, but she keeps having problems. They keep adjusting her meds, but the doctors aren't really sure what they can do for her anymore."

Charlie ran a hand over his head. "H-how?" he sputtered, fear gripping his voice for the first time in years. "That can happen? Someone's fine and then they just…"

"It's apparently been there all along, but I guess this type of thing doesn't always show up until later. Rerun thinks that Lucy hadn't been feeling well before, though, and that she just hadn't said anything. You know Lucy."

He did, once.

Schroeder turned the music back on. It was still some kind of ragtime music, but there was less bounce and more wisdom to it than Schroeder's previous selections. It was melancholy and complicated.

Charlie swallowed. _Shit_. "So that's why the wedding's been…"

"Uh huh," Schroeder confirmed in a clipped tone, not meeting his eyes. "She's been up and down, and they just want to make sure they celebrate on the up."

The music's melody was dramatic and wan all at once, like a quiet resignation. Or maybe an insistent surrender.

"We _are_ going to see her, right?" Charlie inquired, almost insisted. He already knew the answer. The area's hospital was coming up on the road.

"Yeah, we are. She has long spurts at home where she's fine, and then she's back in the hospital for a bit. She's been there a few days now, which really blows because I know she really wanted to go to the engagement party. I don't know who will be with her—someone usually is. Linus and Sally are there a lot."

Charlie was confused. Schroeder was making it sound like Lucy's medical problems were unpredictable, and that Linus and Sally were preemptively making sure she was involved with their wedding just in case things got worse. But the implied just-in-case-things-get-worse urgency was unnerving—just what kind of condition was Lucy in? Was he about to see Lucy on her death bed, or… what? He decided not to bother Schroeder any more with it; the pianist was clearly already troubled over the whole thing.

The music bothered Charlie. He was grateful for its presence, but couldn't stop himself from focusing on it. He resigned himself to its casual gloom.

"Schroeder?"

"Hmm?"

"What's this song?"

Schroeder offered him a sad sort of half smile. "Scott Joplin's last rag."


	2. Half-Asked

2\. Half-Asked

Music Selection: "Us" (Regina Spektor)

* * *

Hospitals always smelled odd. This one smelled like a pungent mixture of heavy-duty bleach and the TV dinners Charlie (often unsuccessfully) made in his apartment.

Schroeder quietly led him up a few floors, and watching his familiarity, Charlie continued to feel guilty about the entire thing. They stopped in front of Lucy's door.

"Wait here," Schroeder told him. "Surprises aren't very good for her."

Charlie shrugged. "Whatever you think is best."

Schroeder returned a moment later, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I told her that I brought a mutual friend, but I didn't say who."

"But I thought you said surprises were bad?"

"The 'I brought someone' part is enough to prepare her, I think," Schroeder chuckled. "She's sick, not boring. I'll give you two a few minutes to catch up."

_Here goes_ , Charlie thought as he stepped through the door. He suddenly realized that he'd forgotten to ask if anyone else was there.

He kept his face frozen to a friendly smile as he walked over to the bed.

"Well," Lucy surmised with a smirk. "If it isn't good 'ol Charlie Brown."

"Hey, Lucy," Charlie answered shyly. The room was sunny enough, the windows and pastel-hued walls working together to cast a cheery glow over everything. Lucy was propped up in bed, clear IV tubes taped to her hand and arm, a nasal cannula doing its job without scaring Charlie too much. A heart monitor chimed quietly in the background, but he'd already made an effort to tune it out.

Once he'd gotten used to the medical intrusiveness—where he thought he'd be disturbed— he took a look at his old friend. Lucy was stiller and paler than he'd remembered, and her dark hair much longer. He could ignore wires, drips, and beeps, but it was hard to ignore the fact that Lucy looked like she was fading.

But she had clearly had enough of his examination, and rolled her eyes. "What the hell are you wearing?" Her voice was thin and reedy, but her intent was clear. She expected an explanation or two, and he resolved that he wasn't going to disappoint her.

Charlie flopped down in the seat next to the bed. "A suit," he disclosed dumbly.

Lucy blinked, unfazed. "And _why_ are you wearing a suit?"

"Be-cause-I-work-in-an-office," he slowly asserted, purposely annoying her by clipping his words. "Office people wear suits."

"Boring people work in offices," she countered, folding her arms, careful not to tangle the various wires and tubes. Her familiarity with the situation was jarring, and it scared him.

"Well," he considered, leaning on his elbows on the bed to get a little closer, "it's a good thing I've never denied the fact that I am, indeed, a boring person."

"Oooh, and sarcastic," Lucy snickered, but Charlie didn't like the way her laugh sounded. "I wouldn't expect anything less," she sighed, taking his hand.

It was good to be alone with her for a moment, but her gentleness frightened him. "How are you, Lucy? Really."

She looked down and made a face. "I'm here, aren't I?" she said matter-of-factly, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes.

"Lucy," Charlie started, "I swear, if I had known—"

"Nope. Not doing that," she sassed without looking him in the eyes. "It is what it is."

He raised an eyebrow, distressed. "You're just going to let it go? I haven't seen you in years, and you're not going to let me have it?"

Charlie's eyes stung out of guilt, but mostly out of alarm. Lucy's calmness baffled and frightened him more than anything else he'd seen and heard lately—and _that_ included hearing that his baby sister was getting married _and_ that he'd somehow missed one of his oldest friends going through medical hell.

Lucy just shrugged. "Grudges are a waste of time. I like them, but not enough to make everyone stay away. Then I'd be bored," she admitted with a grin, and she finally turned and looked at him. "I'm not quite egotistical enough to think that I can always amuse myself. That's why you're here."

Now she was just being ridiculous. "I thought we just established that I'm boring?" he sniffled, his words pitching up towards the end.

He wasn't going to cry. Nope, nope. He was going to hold it together, because Lucy was going to kick him out if he cried (or maybe kick _him_ ), and then he'd feel worse, and he wouldn't get to see her, and _ouch_.

"Well, yeah," she accused, ignoring the fact that his control over his emotions was all over the place. "But your life is more interesting than mine at the moment, so spill."

Once he'd gotten a hold of himself (which he mostly believed he did without any visible disturbance or transition), he told her everything that had been going on in his life. He found it easy to slip back into their old back-and-forth, regaling her with tales of the subway and the office. She'd chime in every now in then with a jibe or a sneer, but he hadn't felt so important in years.

"While I'm excited to hear something new," Lucy concluded, tilting her head to the side, "I feel like I actually need to see your world to picture it."

"You can, any time," Charlie offered hastily, preparing himself to ignore whatever she said next if it was morbid.

Lucy didn't say anything.

"What?" He'd never been able to astonish her before, and highly doubted he'd managed to do it now.

"Everyone's been… wonderful," she started, serious again. "Someone's always here when I want them to be, and they leave me alone when I want that instead. I'm not lonely, or scared, really. But," she went on. "Everyone's so careful about what they say around me. Like, they're afraid if I start to hope or plan… it'll kill me faster." Lucy sounded tired, and he couldn't tell if it was because she was physically or emotionally drained.

"Lucy…"

"No, I mean it," she interrupted with a laugh. "Linus looked terrified when I tried to plan what we were eating for dinner one night last week when I was home. But thank you, Charlie."

"For what?"

"Letting me dream for a bit," she whispered in a tinny way he was unused to hearing from her. "I appreciate it."

He put his hand on top of hers. "Of course."

A sudden rustle of sneakers turned their attention to the door. "Lucy," Sally blurted, talking faster than the room's echo could catch, "I wanted to run this idea for flower arrangements by you. I know that certain flowers mean certain things, but does that mean that I can't have yellow roses? Because I really like yellow roses, but I read that they mean…" she caught herself as Charlie stood to greet her. "…friendship!" she gasped.

She flung her arms around him and he caught her just in time. For the very first time since he got off the train, Charlie felt like he'd made the right decision in coming.

Sally bounced back to a standing position. "Big Brother! I can't tell you how happy I am to see you! I had no idea you were coming." She was wearing a set of bright purple scrubs, and he deduced that she'd just come from work. Did she work at this hospital now? He couldn't remember, and his cheeks burned.

"He and Schroeder were in cahoots," Lucy disclosed. Sally's endless energy made Lucy seem even weaker.

"How long are you here?" Sally queried, shimmying around him to take his place in the chair.

"The weekend."

In a single scanning look, Sally seemed to analyze Lucy's state and stamina. "Then I'm going to take a few minutes here for girl talk," she said with a wink in Charlie's direction. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

"Sure thing. I'll be back, then, Lucy."

"You better be, blockhead," Lucy chided, and her smile made him feel a bit better.

As he turned to leave, Sally grabbed his hand and squeezed it, making sure their eyes met. She was reminding him of her sincerity, and he appreciated that. They'd always been able to communicate with a look, and he was relieved _that_ hadn't changed. "Charlie. I am _really_ glad you're here."

He grinned back at her. "Me too," he agreed gently, dropping her hand.

Charlie Brown's little sister had grown into a pretty young woman inside and out, he thought as he walked into the hallway. Sally had a caring (if slightly misguided) curiosity about her that made her a kind and alert person, and evidently, an excellent nurse. Every time he saw her, he found himself grateful for her innocence—he'd encountered many guys who would try to take advantage of such a wide-eyed, naive girl, and he trusted that she could take care of herself through simple ignorance. He was so proud of her accomplishments, and made a vow in that moment to tell her more often.

He was just starting to wonder where Schroeder had gone off to when he saw his pianist friend round the corner—with Linus, who didn't look very pleased to see him.

"Hi, Linus," he greeted.

"Hi," Linus answered bruskly, not meeting his eyes and walking right by him to Lucy's door.

Charlie went to follow him, and Schroeder hung back by the vending machine in the corner. Schroeder seemed to droop, his shoulders hanging forward.

"Um, Sally's in there with her right now. She said that they were doing girl talk? Whatever that is?" Charlie offered, trailing off with a high-pitched nervous laugh.

Linus seemed to freeze. Charlie Brown immediately searched Schroeder, who seemed very interested in the vending machine, for some sort of answer. _Help. Please. Help._

"'Girl Talk' means wedding planning. For _my_ wedding," Linus grumbled, finally turning to face him.

Schroeder made some sort of unreadable gesture with his partially unwrapped Twix bar, and Charlie just shrugged in surrender. "Yeah, to my sister. Uh, congrats about that, by the way," he interjected, stepping closer to Linus.

Schroeder slapped his hand to his head.

"For getting engaged and getting married. Y'know," Charlie grinned stupidly.

Linus ignored him and marched into Lucy's hospital room.

Charlie turned back to Schroeder and made a popping noise with his mouth. "Welp," he reasoned, popping the 'P' for emphasis. "That could have been much worse."

Schroeder broke into a series of cackles and snickers, all of which offended Charlie. "Yeah, well," Schroeder piped, holding his stomach, "it could have gone a lot better!"

* * *

"I swear. I thought you were saying that I should make small talk or something!" Charlie pointed out later when they were back in Schroeder's car, nearly at Charlie's parents' place. The ragtime music was back on again, and it was starting to get on Charlie's nerves. "Actually, that's a lie. I had no idea what you were saying at all. Do me a favor, and never, ever become an aircraft marshal. All the planes would crash."

"Yeah, well," Schroeder conceded bitterly. "Maybe you just can't read the signals."

"Stick to piano, buddy."

Schroeder grunted. "I was _trying_ to tell you to let him have his space. He's not taking all of this very well."

"Which part?" Charlie turned off the music in a huff. "The Lucy part, or the part where he's marrying my sister in a little more than a month? Because I understand the Lucy part. I do. But if his attitude has anything to do with my sister—"

"Calm down," Schroeder muttered, looking forlornly at the knobs that controlled his music. "It's a lot of things. I know you've got a lot of feelings right now, but…"

Charlie stared at him. "Please don't give me a puberty talk," he said darkly. "I already went through that."

Schroeder made a displeased sound somewhere between a gasp and a grunt, and quickly pulled over. "We're all dealing with this," he snapped. "All of us. And the sooner you idiots figure that out, the better. This isn't about who has been around the most, or who is the most concerned. This involves everyone. You, me, Linus, Rerun, Sally… Patty, Marcie, Violet, Franklin, Pig-Pen, Frieda, _everyone_. But mostly Lucy. We need to make _everything_ about Lucy right now. Because she's spending so much time putting on a brave face for everyone. Or actually being brave, because it's Lucy, and who the hell knows what's actually going on in her head."

Several cars went by. They were just outside of their old neighborhood now, and Charlie felt Schroeder's unsaid warning: Don't go in there if you're going to hurt things, Charlie.

"Are you done?" Charlie finally asked.

"Yeah," Schroeder confirmed unconvincingly. "I'm done."

Something suddenly occurred to Charlie, and he struggled with himself as he tried to find the right words. "Are you okay, Schroeder? Has anyone asked you if _you're_ okay?"

Schroeder closed his eyes and tilted his head. "Not really. No, Charlie Brown, I'm not okay. I haven't always been honest with everyone, Lucy most of all. I haven't always been… kind," he said darkly.

Charlie pondered this. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well…"

"And you're not wrong," he finally considered, "about this being about all of us. It's just hard."

"You can't pretend that you're back now and that things are suddenly okay," Schroeder told him softly. "You've been gone a long time, Charlie Brown. And I'm glad you're back now, don't get me wrong," he added when he saw a look of alarm on Charlie's face. "But you're going to have to work harder to repair things. We've all had some time to adjust to things, and you haven't."

Charlie folded his arms. "Why is Linus so angry with me?"

"I don't really know, Charlie," he acknowledged. "I don't know."

They let out a sigh in unison, sparking a burst of nervous laughter.

"Can I go home now?" Charlie asked in a childish voice.

Schroeder snorted and turned the key in the ignition. "Yes. You can go home now."

* * *

The engagement party was in his backyard, which really shouldn't have been a big surprise. Speaking of surprises, his appearance at the party had been spoiled for everyone but Linus, Sally, and Lucy, courtesy of Schroeder's big mouth. His parents had his room ready for him when he got home, and tried to make a big fuss for all of five minutes before his father admitted that Schroeder had spilled just after he'd called for a ride. They seemed to be taking Sally's impending nuptials rather well, which just made Charlie feel even worse.

"I thought having it out here was fitting," Sally explained with a shrug as she held out a hand to steady herself. "This is where we had all our parties back in the day."

Charlie shuddered. "Parties you were too young to go to." They were standing on chairs, hanging up white lanterns in the trees. So far, Charlie had mostly been successful, only getting his hand caught in what he'd dubbed "The Kite Eating Tree" once when he wasn't paying proper attention.

"Yeah, well… We lucked out that our parents didn't care what we did as long as we were home," Sally laughed, hopping off of the chair as she gently arranged the last lantern so it wouldn't smack anyone in the face if they walked under it.

"Even if that meant we hosted all the time," Charlie laughed as he also finished. "But I think this party is slightly classier."

"Because we're actually old enough to drink?"

"No," Charlie observed, holding up a package of plastic cups. "Because the cups are white instead of red. It's classier."

It was true. For a well-respected Christian family, his parents were surprisingly loose about things like alcohol and parties, but had their own rule: there needed to be no lasting consequences. No drunken teenagers passed out in the yard, no overfilled trash cans, no visits from the cops. Everyone had to be gone and everything had to be cleaned up by the time Mrs. Brown started breakfast at 7, and Charlie and Sally were expected to be fully alert and participatory at church.

The Browns only let their children attend parties at their own home, so they almost always hosted. Their house was always the Saturday night hotspot, and everyone knew it. Even Franklin—whose father was a police officer—came with full parental support. The general neighborhood consensus was that things were contained and the kids were forced to think about any and all potential penalties, so it was the best way for them to have fun without getting into any trouble.

Backwards? Yes. Effective? Yes.

"Oh, yes," Sally echoed. "Much classier."

It was nice to see Sally smile. When Charlie had left home, she was still in high school, and was going through a dramatic phase that involved lots of slamming doors.

"I hate that you're prepping for your own party," he confessed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Sally pulled out a camera and snapped a few pictures of the area. "I don't mind. Lucy was very detailed in what she wanted to see, and I had to make sure that I followed her plans exactly. I hate that she can't be here," his sister sighed. "She hadn't had any problems for weeks, and then they decided to admit her after her appointment on Monday because her meds aren't working as well as they'd like. So I have to get 'before and after' pictures to show her that I followed her plans. Remind me to take the 'after' later when I'm drunk."

Charlie covered his face with his hands. "I'm still not used to hearing that."

"Oh, c'mon," she mocked, punching him in the shoulder. "You're just not used to me being of age. You used to see me drink all the time."

Goodness, the guilt was piling on. In the past few hours, he'd irritated nearly everyone he'd come in contact with for past and present wrongs. Recalling his teenage exploits—which were numerous and often involved copious amounts of alcohol, often in his own backyard— wasn't exactly his idea of a great time.

"I think I win the bad brother award," he said quietly.

Sally frowned. "Why do you say that?"

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder as his slumped in defeat. "Because you've been through a lot and I haven't been there. And when I was physically present, I wasn't very attentive."

Sally still looked unhappy. She took a step back. "None of… this," she told him, motioning to the backyard party setup, "has anything to do with you. Lucy… isn't a hundred percent these days, Charlie," and it hurt him a bit to hear her say it with that sad smile, "and I'm in love."

They sat down at Snoopy's doghouse, resting their backs against the worn red wood. It was empty, now; the beagle passed away shortly before Charlie graduated from high school. He often thought fondly of his old buddy, musing on carefree times gone by.

"I think I always knew I'd end up with Linus," Sally admitted. "I just thought it would be later, in its own time. And when Lucy first got sick, Linus needed some support. He came to me, and I can't say I didn't welcome that, as bad as that sounds. You know how I like to take care of people."

"I do."

She bit her lip. "I don't mean to imply that I was taking advantage of a sad situation only that…"

Charlie put an arm around her. "I get it. Everyone wants to be needed."

"Exactly. And for a while," she continued, "it looked like things were going to be okay. Lucy was on medications that helped her regulate things, and Linus and I were happy. But…"

She took a breath. This was clearly hard for her, and Charlie felt bad for making her think she had to justify everything to him, and worse that it was exactly what he expected when he decided to make this trip.

"When Lucy's condition got… more unpredictable, we decided to speed things up. Lucy brought us closer, we thought, and it was so important to us that she be involved in the wedding. She's my maid of honor, you know," Sally finished with a smile.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just letting it wash over. "I wasn't there for any of that," he marveled. "None of it. Not for Linus, or Lucy, or you…"

Sally took his hands. "You don't need to feel bad for any of that. Nothing. I've never seen you looking and sounding so well, Big Brother. Don't punish yourself for being happy. You _are_ allowed to be happy."

He pulled away. "I'm not punishing myself."

"You sure sound like you are," she hypothesized, tilting her head.

"I missed all the important things," he said. "I don't feel guilty for living my own life, but… I chose to live it at the cost of cutting ties with everyone here. I've behaved badly."

_I'm an awful person_ , Charlie thought. He'd only come to this stupid party because he wanted Sally and Linus to justify their speedy engagement, and now he saw how horrible that was. He'd been so selfish.

"You live and you learn," Sally quipped, and her brother laughed.

"When did you become so wise?" He kissed her cheek.

Sally crossed her arms. "I've always been wise. You… and everyone else… just didn't notice. That, and I finally found my calling. Nursing is easy! You just need to be nice to people. Well, and then there's all the medical stuff."

Charlie snorted. "I think that part is slightly important."

"It's all really logical. You don't need to think too hard. Everything has a procedure, and I like that. It's the one thing I've never felt myself doing half-asked." She started to stand up.

"Wait," Charlie laughed, catching her elbow. "'Half-asked?"

"Y'know, how I used to be in school? I did half of what they asked me. Half-asked. I don't do that anymore."

He stood up, trying to regain some composure and failing. "Sally, I hate to tell you this, but it's half- _assed_ , and I'm pretty sure you've been saying it wrong your entire life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you in a comment- even just a word or two. Thank you to everyone who has supported this so far!


	3. Bridges

3\. Bridges

Music Selections: "Skeleton Key" (Dessa), "Hong Kong Garden- Strings Intro" (Siouxsie And The Banshees)

"Let it be known," Schroeder announced dramatically as he turned up the music, "that Charlie Brown has  _always_  known how to have fun at a party." He had one arm around Charlie, and used the other to make a weirdly regal gesture to everyone else.

Charlie imagined that his parents' backyard hadn't held so many people since his class graduated from high school. He recognized many people from his childhood, and organized them into mental categories: Unavoidable Reunions, Nameless Faces, and Avoid At All Cost.

"Schroeder," Charlie leaned low and whispered, "did you pregame? I thought we talked about this. Several years ago."

"No, I most certainly did not pregame!" Schroeder yelled in response, and the members of what once was their high school drama club and Jenny Jo Byers (the cashier from the convenience store by the bowling alley) raised their glasses in support from where they stood by the Kite-Eating Tree.

"Really?" Charlie scolded, but only meant it a little. He glanced at his sister, who was talking to someone's mother by the grill. As long as she was having fun, he didn't care. He took a sip of the sparkling whatever-it-was in his white plastic cup, and immediately regretted it. "I'm going to go get a beer."

"What?" Schroeder hollered.

"Alcohol. Need more. Need better," Charlie grunted louder. It seemed to do the trick, because Schroeder nodded and went to talk to one of the old ladies from the church he worked at.

Charlie made his way over to an ice-filled tub of various cans and bottles and wondered when he had become a caveman.

He didn't realize that the figure already bent over the tub was Linus until the latter straightened and handed him his favorite brand of beer. "Ah, um, thanks."

"You're welcome," Linus answered civilly as he opened a beer for himself.

 _That wasn't awful_ , Charlie decided. "How are things? I mean, you're still in school, right?" he added when Linus just stared at him without giving any sort of response.

Linus shook his head a bit, and it seemed as if a switch had been pulled. "Uh, yes, sorry," he answered, and he suddenly looked much kinder. "Working on the doctorate, now."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, and Charlie wasn't sure if it felt weird because the party was fairly loud or because they'd always found something to talk about before. Once, they'd been content to stare at the sky and look for shapes together. Silence was only acceptable if you knew what the other person was thinking, Charlie considered. Being an adult came with a lot of pressure, especially when you had to prove your maturity to people who'd known you your whole life but hadn't seen you in years.

Here he was again, hating the awkward silence that came from distance. Silence meant judgement; silence meant unpredictability. Neither were things that Charlie had ever found comfortable.

"So… What do you do?" Linus offered.

"I work at a sports magazine. I'm the associate feature editor, so I basically get to think about sports all day."

"Not talk about sports? Or write about sports?" Linus asked.

Charlie appreciated that he seemed earnest. "Sometimes. It depends how my boss is feeling that day. I spend my entire day in meetings, honestly. And when I'm not in meetings, I spend my time  _scheduling_  meetings. Sometimes they're interesting—when I get to pitch a story, or when I'm meeting to make a story happen. And other times, when it's about focus groups or sales or marketing or whatever—the actual publishing part of a magazine—I'm bored to tears."

"Everyone has good days and bad days," Linus remarked, and Charlie realized he had forgotten how wise his old friend could be.

"How about you? Do you like school?"

Linus hesitated. "I do," he said tentatively. "But it's hard to focus right now. With everything that's going on."

"Yeah, um, I bet," Charlie sympathized.

They were silent again, and this time, Charlie decided that he was going to be the one to get them out of it. "Linus, I—"

"Don't," Linus snapped.

Charlie stepped towards him, pressing on. "I need to do this. This has gone on long enough, and I need to-"

"This isn't about you or what you need." Linus hissed, clearly aware of their surroundings. Sally suddenly turned from across the lawn and looked at them, and they both gave her cheery, insincere smiles that Charlie was sure she didn't believe.

She waved, they waved back, and he suddenly understood why Linus had been playing nice—Sally had spoken to him.

Linus stayed grinning, and spoke through his teeth. "You can't make this about you. Not here. Not now. Not again. This is about our sisters, not us. We need to do all that we can to pretend for  _them_."

Sally was still looking at them. "Then why don't we do the right thing? Why don't we actually talk about this? We don't need to pretend unless you make us, Linus. It's your decision."

Charlie's poker face had always been terrible. Sally definitely knew something was up.

Schroeder, who had been fixing himself a burger and pretending not to listen to the last part of their conversation, suddenly groaned, "Oh, no."

Linus and Charlie both looked up to see Sally marching over to them. "Shit," they cursed at the same time.

"Problem, boys?" she inquired innocuously, batting her eyelashes.

"Nope."

"Not at all."

"I have a cheeseburger, but I still need chips," Schroeder chimed in.

They all threw him an incredulous look. "What?" he asked innocently.

"Schroeder, go be the DJ," Sally sighed.

"Really?" the musician perked up. "But you said—"

"I know," Sally reasoned as she patted his back. "I know I said that your music puts everyone to sleep. But I think I was too hasty in my judgment. Won't you please DJ for us?"

Schroeder looked thrilled. "Of course!" He toddled over to the stereo, and the remaining Brown-Van Pelt group let out a collective groan.

"You're going to regret that," Linus warned her.

She put her hands on her hips. "You have the power to make it go away. All you have to do is get over yourselves and be nice."

"What are you going to do, lock us in a room until we make up?" Charlie moaned.

* * *

Charlie sat in his parents' basement and crossed his arms. "I didn't even realize the basement locked from outside. It probably doesn't. I bet if we tried the door, it would open. But she'd kill us, and that would be awful."

"I'm more concerned that when I asked 'What happens if we don't make up' she said 'We'll burn that bridge when we come to it,'" Linus worried. He was pacing around the basement, and looked like he could use his security blanket. Charlie decided not to bring that up—he liked his head attached to his body, and he was on thin ice as it was.

"That's… No," Charlie sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I don't know if she heard that as a song lyric, from someone else, or if she genuinely thought that, but that's... No. Sometimes I think she jumbles things together like that on purpose."

"What a weird thought," Linus mused. "Burning bridges before we can cross them."

Charlie looked up at him. "Is that what you do all day at school? Wax poetic about vague thoughts and ideas?"

"Sometimes. It depends how thoughtful and insightful I am that day. I've had some… Unclear, unfocused days lately. More than some. Most," Linus admitted.

"I'm sorry."

Linus exhaled and slumped on the floor next to him. They could hear Schroeder arguing as he begrudgingly changed the music, strings giving way to music people would actually dance to. Charlie did his best to tune it out.

"I mean it," Charlie insisted. "I don't know how you got it in your head that I'm the bad guy here, but I'm not."

The scholar swung his head in Charlie's direction with his mouth hanging open. "Charlie Brown, I haven't been imagining you petting a white cat and plotting the end of the world. Although, I didn't expect the suit," he added with a raised eyebrow.

"Not you, too!" Charlie groaned.

Linus laughed at him, and it was getting really annoying. "Lucy gave you shit for that, didn't she?" People in the city didn't laugh at Charlie this much. People in the city didn't  _anything_  at him this much. His life was predictable until it wasn't, with careful room built in for chaos. This weekend was becoming crazier than anything he'd experienced since college.

"Of course she did." He sucked in a breath, trying to figure out where to go with all of this. "Linus," he pled, letting it out, "I didn't know about Lucy before today. If I had, I would've been back to see all of you much sooner."

"I don't believe that," Linus intoned.

Charlie bit his lip and asked, "Why?" even though he already knew the answer.

"Because you haven't been around in years. And I don't know if that's because you think you were treated badly or because you think you're too good for us—"

"—hey," Charlie interrupted, standing up, "I have a  _huge_  problem with the fact that you're assigning all these characteristics to me with absolutely no evidence—"

"Exactly!" Linus exclaimed, rising up to look him in the eye. Charlie had always been on the tall side of average, and Linus wasn't as short as Charlie remembered.

"I know people get older and grow apart," Linus interjected, "but I never thought that would be you. Everyone knows you're a good guy, Charlie, and that you don't make decisions lightly. I have known you my entire life, and I know that's true. So clearly, if you weren't around, you  _decided_  not to be around."

Linus's tone was fiery, passionate, and engaging. It was effective, but that wasn't Charlie's style. He was the calm-cool-collected-with-selected-outbursts type, and this conversation was too important to muck up with his temper getting the better of him, even if Linus was testing his limits. Severely.

"You aren't wrong," Charlie answered evenly. "You're not wrong at all. I  _do_  like to make decisions once I weigh all the options. You've heard many a Charlie Brown Overthought." Lucy gave Charlie's overdramatic musings a name in high school, and he'd never forgotten it.

He went to put a hand in his pocket and realized that he hadn't cut it open yet. Linus noticed his blunder and chuckled. "I have."

Laughing was a good sign.

"I don't think I realized it until I decided to come back, but I have stayed away for a reason," Charlie went on. "I think I started to see this place… and the people here… as a black hole."

"That's heavy," Linus stated, rolling his eyes.

"No, really," Charlie insisted. "I've been  _happy_ , Linus.  _Happy_. That's really rare for me. I have good and bad days like everyone else, but generally, I'm doing really well. I'm feeling good."

Linus nodded in reflective agreement. "You  _were_  a fairly angsty child," he considered.

"I still am, sometimes," Charlie admitted. "But for the first time, I'm just living my life. I'm not comparing myself to other people, wondering if I'm on par. I'm just being me. And I moved to this new place, where just being me was enough. And once I'd figured out what that felt like, I didn't want to go back."

"But you're alone," Linus pointed out, sitting cross-legged on the floor. ( _Good_ , Charlie thought.  _We can be informal again._ )

Charlie shrugged and joined him. "I'm okay with that."

"I don't think that's true," Linus disagreed. "Didn't you wonder about any of us?"

"I wasn't worried."  _Clearly, I should have been_ , he added in his head, thinking of Lucy. "I had faith that everyone was okay. I know that sounds horrible, but I was just so tired of being mediocre and everyone calling me out for it. I just wanted to get away from the root of my negativity."

"Didn't you think any of us wondered about you?" Linus asked.

Of course he'd considered that. Charlie had spent most of his life worrying about what people thought. Did they have good thoughts about him? Bad thoughts? How many nights had he stayed awake, hoping someone thought of him, noticed him, at all? "I think I spent so much time craving human feeling that I just got numb to it. I decided that it just didn't matter to me anymore."

"You became a robot," Linus theorized.

"I became my own person."

"You became a robot."

They both sighed.

"I'm fine, Linus," Charlie assured. "Emotionally. I've never been better."

"Yeah?" Linus countered. "That's great, Charlie Brown. Because let me tell you how it went. You just slowly started to slip away, stopped talking to anyone, stopped everything, and I'll be honest, no one really noticed. Until one by one, everyone started to move home, or visit for Christmas, and we went to do the old traditions or go through the old motions and you weren't there."

"Linus—"

"No one's got a problem with the fact that you're living your own life and that you're happy," Linus cut in. "We just realized our friend didn't need us anymore, and that stung."

"We?"

"Everyone. You're not the only angsty child who never grew up," Linus mused with a dark laugh. "We talk about you more now than we did when you were here. You're a popular topic when everyone gets together at the bar on Thursday nights."

"That's… okay, that's weird," Charlie acknowledged, but then he realized something and he felt his cheeks get hot. "I can't be the only one of our friends who moved away."

"No, you are," Linus laughed. "And I never would have guessed it, but that's what happened. And that's okay, I guess. Maybe we've—"

"You've."

"We've—"

" _You've_ ," Charlie insisted in a monotone.

"—been a little hard on you," Linus conceded. "Because the moving-away part wasn't the problem. A phone call would be nice."

"Okay, mom, I'll try to write home more," Charlie laughed, and everything would have been okay except Linus wasn't laughing.

"Why are you serious again," Charlie noticed out loud. "I thought we were getting better? Laughing is good, yes?"

Linus's face was blank. "I'm fine with joking around, and I'm glad you're now aware why everyone—"

"You. It's definitely all you. Because Patty was hugging me and drooling on my jacket before I could even say hello."

"—why  _everyone_  has been pissed at you, even though you should have known—"

"Hey!"

"Patty started drinking at 2 p.m," Linus snorted.

"Enough!" Charlie bellowed. He was done laughing, absolutely done. Painfully serious, now. "Stop it. Somewhere, you- and I mean all of you, everyone, if you're going to talk that way- you have to know that I couldn't stand being your punchline anymore. Maybe I shouldn't have cut everyone off completely, but you can't blame me for all of this."

"You're the one who left, Charlie," Linus said quietly. "Not us."

Charlie leaned closer to him and took a breath before hissing, "But you're part of the reason I feel like…" He sighed and flopped back against the wall, trying to regain composure. "I feel so inadequate here. And I finally just decided that I needed to get away from the place and people that made me feel so low. Do you remember," he swallowed, dreading where this conversation was going, "the weekend before we were supposed to leave for school?"

"Charlie…" Linus said, eyes wide.

It was enough of a reminder that, once, they were much closer.

Once, they weren't two grown men angry and aware because of the space between them.

Once, they were part of something larger- a group of friends terrified of the changes ahead.

Once, a lot of wonderful and terrible things happened in one night, and nothing changed even though everything should have changed and-

"That night was a wake-up call. I decided that I would never, ever be put in that position again," Charlie answered firmly.

His gaze stayed forward, but in the corner of his eye, he saw Linus's head jerk to look at him.

"It… It was an accident, Charlie. There wasn't anything you could have done," Linus countered, sounding concerned.

"I know it was an accident, Linus," Charlie responded with what little patience he could muster. He knew he was scaring Linus, so he added, "I don't want to talk about it right now. I'm not ready to."

There was a lot about that night that he'd played over and over in his head, and the accident- the part Linus probably thought bothered Charlie the most- was the least of his concerns. Lots of details were still and always would be a little fuzzy, but there was a lot for Charlie to remember.

_Sally was the oddly calm, sober presence, at least until they got to the hospital and their parents took over. Lucy was flighty, shaking, yelling at everyone and anything. Schroeder- who had been there through all of it- ignored everyone but Charlie, quietly apologizing over and over and Linus…_

"I don't want you around Lucy if you're just going to leave again," Linus finally resolved, letting out a sigh of resignation.

Charlie blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "What?"

"You heard me," Linus pressed on. "She needs consistency right now, and if you're just going to leave again without coming back, then I don't want to see you visiting her again."

Charlie weighed this. "I'm not going anywhere," he said with a sad smile, and he desperately wanted to find something to laugh at and couldn't. "I'm not going to leave you again."

Linus didn't say anything. "I won't," Charlie insisted again. Why wasn't Linus fighting him? He wasn't complaining, but it seemed odd. "Linus…" he started, but couldn't find the words.

"I heard something loud in the kitchen," Linus told him, staring straight ahead at a rack of old baseball bats Charlie had been meaning go through for years. "And I thought she was just being dramatic, y'know? Throwing things around just because. Lucy's always been theatrical. So I walked in the kitchen, determined to  _argue_  with her, and," he swallowed, "she was just lying on the ground, and she wouldn't wake up. I kept calling her name, and I kept shaking her, and she just…. She wouldn't wake up. Rerun called for an ambulance, and he asked me what to tell them, and I had no idea," Linus broke off, and Charlie wouldn't have interrupted for the world.

"How does someone explain, 'Yeah, I was planning to yell at my sister, but I found her unconscious, so we should probably be worried about that and you should probably send an ambulance.' I just froze," Linus said soberly, using a hand to wipe at his forehead. "And they came, and they did all the medical things I'm so used to now—the oxygen, the IVs, the machines—but I was just terrified. And she didn't react to  _anything_  they did. Nothing. And I think that's when I knew things weren't going to be the same again."

"You can't blame yourself, Linus. You reacted the only way you could," Charlie remarked, not knowing what else to say, and instantly regretting it.

"Thank goodness for your sister," Linus avowed, thankfully ignoring Charlie. "I mean it. She met me at the hospital, and she found out all that she could. She called my parents—can you believe I forgot to do that? And she made sure they were on their way. Sally was amazing. Sally  _is_  amazing. If there's something good that's come out of all of this, it's that I realized how much I need her in my life."

Charlie stayed silent.

"She has good days," Linus gently stated, "when you'd never even know anything's wrong."

"That's what Sally said," Charlie remembered.

"Sally also probably told you that there are more good days than bad, which isn't really true anymore," Linus went on. "Then there are times when she's so focused on breathing that she can't even talk, and it's like she's not even there because she has to pay so much attention to something that other people can just do."

"I hope I don't sound rude for asking, but what made things… How did it get worse?" Charlie inquired.

Linus shrugged. "She's on different medications for different things, and it's just not working. They can only do so much for so long. And Lucy—well, you know Lucy. She never wants to tell anyone when she's feeling badly. I would never tell her this, but it's clear that she wasn't feeling right and just didn't say anything before all of this happened. Getting tired, trouble breathing."

The door opened before Charlie could respond. Sally appeared just as Linus stood up to investigate.

"Did you two make up yet?" she asked with her hand on her hip, a little drunk.

Linus pretended to hesitate for a moment, and then grinned. "I suppose." He stuck out a hand and pulled Charlie up.

Things weren't over, not by a long shot, but they were better, Charlie decided.

Sally sighed. "Good."

"It's cross that bridge," they told her in unison as they followed her up the stairs, "not  _burn_  that bridge."

Sally stopped and looked over her shoulder at them, very pleased with herself. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will continue to be sporadic because of life. Sorry! But thanks for all of the reviews so far- I appreciate all of them. Keep 'em coming!

**Author's Note:**

> Ten or so years ago, I was in middle school, and I was just starting to watch soap operas and British period dramas. Having just been in a production of “You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown,” I started writing a godawful fanfic called “The Van Pelt Saga,” combining the melodramatic knowledge I’d gained by watching a lot of TV and being in middle school with my love of the Peanuts characters. It was to be a very dramatic, shippy story, and I have no idea if there was any actual plot. 
> 
> Somewhere along the way, I lost interest. Which was definitely for the best. 
> 
> Since then, a lot has happened. 
> 
> I’ve picked up (and often put right back down) twenty-something fanfics and several more original stories, but I never forgot about “The Van Pelt Saga.” I have no idea where the hell I was going with it because so much time has gone by.
> 
> I was fortunate enough to direct a production of “Dog Sees God” in college, and Charlie Brown and the gang just wouldn’t leave me alone. This story is not in the same universe as “Dog Sees God” by any means, but I’d be lying if I said that Mr. Royal’s writing isn’t a major influence on my interpretation of the characters and my writing style (I’m a huge fangirl). I also adore black comedy in general.
> 
> Now I’m in graduate school, if you can believe it, and I feel like I can finally write these characters the way I always wanted to: with some life experience, a little bit of regret, and a whole lot of humor. 
> 
> If you avoid people, they resent you. If you stay away, you miss things. If you make a mistake, you can still learn from it. You can fail gracefully as long as you make a change. And above all, laugh at yourself.
> 
> These are things that Charlie Brown—and I— had to learn to be able to make this story happen. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and leave a comment if you feel so inclined… Even if it’s just “Yeah, I read it.”


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